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Left To Burn: The Heiress's Ruthless Comeback Novel Cover

Left To Burn: The Heiress's Ruthless Comeback

Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help. He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn. I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries. They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed. "Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife." My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company. Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing. They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did. But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away. I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle. "The engagement is over." I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.
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Chapter 8

Through the narrow gap in the door, Avah saw the interior of the massive, ultra-luxurious suite.

Standing in the center of the room was an elderly British man dressed in a flawless tailcoat.

The butler, Arthur Finch, was respectfully directing several high-end private nurses as they organized a mountain of expensive toys for Leo.

The sheer scale of this ridiculous display of wealth slammed into Avah's brain. Her suspicions were confirmed. That man was definitely not a hotel employee.

Suddenly, a piercing, heart-wrenching scream erupted from the inner bedroom. It was followed by the loud crash of something glass shattering.

Avah's heart violently seized in her chest. Pure maternal instinct took over. She pushed the heavy door open, dropped her crutch, and rushed inside.

Arthur looked surprised by her sudden intrusion, but he quickly bowed his head and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

Avah limped into the inner bedroom. Leo was thrashing wildly on the massive king-sized bed, his face pale and drenched in cold sweat.

The little boy was trapped in a horrific nightmare of the fire. His small hands clawed at the air, violently rejecting anyone who tried to touch him.

Atticus sat on the edge of the mattress, his dark brows pulled tightly together. He reached out with his large hands, trying to pin his son's shoulders down to stop him from hurting himself.

But Atticus's movements were stiff and awkward. The forceful restraint only made Leo scream louder, his voice cracking with terror.

Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in her ankle, Avah threw herself onto the edge of the bed.

Instead of trying to overpower Atticus's rigid grip, she swiftly slid her slender arms between his broad hands and the boy's thrashing form. Using her own body as a soft barrier, she gently but firmly wedged herself into the space, breaking the father's stiff hold. She pulled Leo's trembling body tightly against her own chest.

Avah lowered her head. In a soft, incredibly gentle voice, she began to hum an old, soothing lullaby right into Leo's ear.

Her hand rubbed his back in slow, rhythmic circles, calming him down like a frightened little animal.

Almost miraculously, the moment Leo breathed in Avah's scent, his frantic screams began to die down into soft hiccups.

His tiny fists grabbed handfuls of Avah's hospital gown. He buried his wet face deep into the crook of her neck.

Atticus didn't get angry when she pushed him. Instead, he sat perfectly still, his deep blue eyes intensely focused on the beautiful scene unfolding before him.

Without taking his eyes off Avah, Atticus raised a hand and flicked his fingers. Arthur and the nurses immediately backed out of the room and closed the door.

The room fell silent. Avah kept her head down, completely focused on soothing the exhausted child in her arms.

As she shifted her weight, her peripheral vision accidentally caught sight of Atticus's left arm resting casually on his knee.

The cuff of his crisp white shirt was rolled up slightly, exposing a section of his thick, muscular forearm.

Right near his wrist, on the inside of his arm, was a massive, horrifying burn scar.

The scar tissue was twisted and angry red, a clear sign that his flesh had recently been exposed to extreme, blistering heat.

Avah's breath hitched in her throat. Her mind instantly flashed back to the towering figure in the inferno, the man who had carried her out through the flames.

She slowly raised her head. Her wide eyes darted frantically between Atticus's calm face and the brutal scar on his arm.

The man who had risked his life to pull her from the fire, the man who had nearly destroyed his own arm to save her... was him.

A massive, complicated wave of emotion crashed into Avah's chest. The thick walls of defense she had built up began to crack.

Atticus noticed her staring. He didn't pull his sleeve down to hide the injury. Instead, he met her shocked gaze head-on.

A slow, dark smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, like a predator watching its prey step willingly into a trap.

Leo's breathing evened out as he fell asleep in her arms, but Avah suddenly felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

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